Mutability
by trufflemores
Summary: 1.15. "Any deviation, however slight, could result in a cataclysm."


**Author's Notes:** Good evening! I wrote this incredibly rewarding fic in a single eight hour sitting. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 1.15 "Out of Time" and 1.16 "Rogue Time" are two of my favorite episodes in the series and I knew that I wanted to do them justice. As a result, "Mutability" has been a fic I've had in mind since I first watched them. I'm very happy to present it to you now.

I also wanted to take a moment to say thank you for your incredibly generous response; I certainly wasn't expecting so many of you to reply! 3 I'm so grateful for your support and I wrote this fic specifically with you guys in mind.

Much love,  
~truffles

* * *

What's it like, traveling through time?

In a word: singular.

It entails becoming a last survivor. What _is_ a last survivor? After the asteroid strikes, it's the final witness to succumb after all others have gone before it, the last _living_ remnant of one of the Earth's greatest catastrophes. It's a bridge between two eras: Before and After.

Barry becomes one _that day_.

He was born in that timeline. Theoretically, he died in it, too. Annihilated himself when he broke through spacetime and traveled back nearly thirty-six hours.

When he looks out at the gray horizon for the last time, there is joy in his veins ( _ **Iris**_ _. . ._ ), terror in his lungs ( _I can't stop it, I can't stop it, I can't stop it_ ), and lightning in his eyes ( _I have to try_ ).

Before cowardice can strangle courage, he plants his feet on the sand and runs as fast as he can.

His heart pounds, his lungs heave. Panic keeps him light on his feet. Sweeping the shoreline, he sprints from point to point. Like Caitlin and he predicted, it kicks up a wind vortex, sapping the tsunami of some of its strength. The wave still surges ahead: Mardon isn't giving up and _it's getting stronger_. Barry senses defeat but _feels_ renewed strength as he fights harder to stop it; he hears thunder crackle, his body more energy than matter as he runs. Sound and air exert a pulverizing pressure on him; he roars as he pushes against it because he cannot _fail_.

In a single moment – _impact_ – everything changes.

The screaming sensation of time dilation and space contraction overtakes him, leaving him insensate for a breathless moment.

Then momentum carries him into another world.

Without pause, he advances on a red blur on his _left_ side. ( _My right side, he was on my right side_.) Awe holds him, enraptured, as he stares at the Other Flash, running towards certain doom. He can't stop.

Barry overtakes him, feeling a disarming sense of _that's me_ , they aren't separate people, _I'm_ the shadow – and then he's past the blur, moving ahead, faster, faster, faster.

When he comes to a halt on the street corner, he's alone. Breathing hard.

And absolutely certain that the Other World – the one _he came from_ – is gone.

Looking around, Barry heaves in air that is almost a day and a half younger than him, trying to orient himself. There are dogs barking, but he can still _smell_ the tide, rushing at him in an unstoppable surge ( _I can't hold it, I can't hold it, I— I have to try_ _ **, I have to try**_ ). His hands shake with adrenaline, clasped on his knees; his eyes dart instinctively around, trying to process the sudden darkness, the mundanity of the streets.

Two dogs strain against their leashes, barking boisterously; a woman tilts a cardboard arrow in slow circles, advertising – something, his vision is still wired, not quite processing everything – shaking his head to clear it, he looks at the intersection, where a woman shouts at a passing yellow car:

" _Taxi!_ "

 _I know that voice._

"Taxi!"

Exasperated, the woman flings a hand out. "Oh, come on, I'm gonna be late!"

With an exhale that is half-relief and half-astonishment, he breathes, "Oh, boy."

This – is – not – the – plan.

"Hey, what's going on?" Cisco asks and Cisco, _Cisco_ , _I don't know what I did but I need to get to the shoreline and stop the tsunami or everyone dies_ —

"Dude?"

" _Yeah_ ," he huffs, turning, breathing in the freezing air, telling himself _this is a really, really bad time for a mental breakdown, just calm down_. "Cisco? I'm – here."

"What happened? Why'd you stop?"

He's so casual that Barry almost replies, _I traveled through time_.

Stalling, he says, " _Ah_. I just got—" He takes a careful step back, impulsively retracing his steps, like he can somehow reopen that portal and return _home_ , he needs to go home, but this – this is home now. "Got a little disoriented," he finishes, turning so he can walk forward. _This is home now_.

It's still _his timeline_ : but it doesn't feel like it.

No, he broke something, he changed something _no one else_ knows about, and now – now he has to – do something about it.

Beat the clock. Stop the tsunami.

 _I'm from the future._

 _And I have to stop that from ever happening again._

Nonchalant, Cisco warns him in a disapproving tone, "Well, you need to make up some time, man. You'd better hurry up."

"Hurry? What are you—" He's stupid with fatigue and fear, scarcely remembering what _happened_ on this night when it all leads to a tidal wave and _keep up, Barry, this is real now, you have to play the game._

Cisco sounds confused when he explains, "Hurry as in . . . get to the _morgue_."

It doesn't click. "The morgue?" None of it clicks. "I was there." And he was. " _Yesterday_." _Yesterday doesn't exist, none of it exists anymore, this is the new reality—_

"What are you talking about?" Cisco asks, understandably baffled. "Come on, you gotta go!"

Okay. Okay.

The morgue.

Cisco's right. He needs to start thinking, but his memory is scattered, fractured, shaken up by the disconcerting leap from _after_ to _before_ – or is it _before_ to _after_ —

Either way – he's got to make his move.

So he runs.

When he arrives at the morgue, dressed in Barry Allen's clothes because this isn't the Flash's business yet, it's still just Barry's, it's like walking on stage during a play. Except instead of breaking the magic he breaks a dimensional barrier: everything around him is _real_. The props, the actors, the lines. It's real time, real world.

He stands in wonderment at the entryway, watching them. Stepping forward, he bumps into an extra – _an officer, this isn't a play, this is real_ – and pauses, trying to catch his bearings again.

There's the coroner. The catalyst.

 _Act 1. Scene 1. Morgue_.

"Hey, Bar – what's with all the water?"

He startles, clutching his handbag, when Joe comes up beside him, gesturing unconcernedly at the space around them. There's a slight undertone to his voice: Barry can't blame him. The case doesn't make sense – who kills a coroner?

 _Someone after a cop who killed the murderer's brother_.

Shakespeare would have a field day. A true play within a play.

"Did the sprinkler system go off or something?" Joe asks, oblivious.

Caught off guard, Barry looks up. In a voice almost as bewildered as he feels, he says, "What? No, I checked the sprinklers. They're all intact." _Not yet._ Luckily, Joe misses the anomaly – he wouldn't know. Moving forward, feeling like a playwright invading the world of its characters to break the fourth wall and whisper _I know how this story ends_ , he leads Joe forward, explaining, "But the water has ice in it. And the bruises on the coroner," he's standing directly over the man now, gesticulating vaguely, dropping his case at his side, "aren't just on his face. _Check_ —look at his torso."

Joe crouches down, obeys, but Barry doesn't have eyes for him or the coroner, thinking, _When does this break?_

It has to. It can't be real. This is impossible.

 _It's a play. It's not real_.

But it's not a play. And Joe's startled, "Whoa" is real, too.

He turns to look at Barry, crouched beside him, and asks, "How the hell did you know that?"

He sounds more mystified than upset. Barry can't break free of his own trace. "He was killed by hail," he says. It doesn't even sound like him. His hands don't feel like his. Nothing feels real. Realization hits him – "We have to listen to the recording."

"Recording?" Joe echoes.

They're both up and – on cue – Eddie shows up. "Joe! We've got something. The coroner's office just installed an automated dictation system. Listen to this."

It's too much – he wants to step offstage, he wants to go _home_ , back to the timeline where everyone is on the same page, but now he's the only one in the entire world who knows what happened.

Holding his head in his hands, he tries not to breakdown.

When Eddie hits play, a chill runs down his spine, one hand migrating to his mouth instead as he listens.

"Please, no more," the coroner begs.

"I'll stop when you tell me," Mardon snaps.

"Stop," the coroner whimpers.

" _Who killed him?_ "

Barry can't resist. Joe and Eddie _need to know_. "That's Mark Mardon. He wants revenge."

They're still speaking on the tape, but Joe only has eyes for him. Wide-eyed. _Afraid, confused, worried._

On tape, the coroner screams. The audio cuts out with clipped footsteps, a door slamming shut behind its owner.

"Oh my god," Eddie summarizes. "How the hell is he still alive?"

Barry shakes his head – he can't speak, doesn't _dare_ say more – and turns to leave.

"Where are you going?" Joe asks, sounding equal parts concerned and confused. "Don't you want to investigate?"

"I need some air," Barry says without stopping, pushing open the door and checking Captain Singh, dousing them both in latte.

Captain Singh lets out a disgusted, "My fiancé _just_ bought me this coat."

With a stumbled apology, Barry flees, scarcely clearing the corner before Flashing to safety.

Except there is _nowhere_ to go – at home he'll have to talk to Joe and Iris – _Iris Iris Iris_ _ **Iris**_ – at work, Captain Singh, colleagues – at Star Labs—

He doesn't hesitate, zipping inside the facility and doing a quick scan to make sure he is alone.

He's hyperventilating in the suit, coming to a halt in the cortex and sinking with his back to the wall, struggling to get the mask off. Once it's free he loosens the top half of the suit, trying not to think about how none of this is right or supposed to be happening or _real_ – and cradles his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, and quietly shakes apart.

. o .

For a long time, he can't move.

He wants to call Cisco or Caitlin, Iris, his dad, Joe, _anyone_ , but he can't because they don't know, they _can't_ know.

It's late – very late – by the time he manages to unfold from his curled up position on the floor. He pushes himself to his feet. Shakes his arms a little, trying to release some of the tension in his shoulders. He's exhausted, but he's also _wired_.

Pulling out the projector Cisco and Dr. Wells use for movie nights, he settles into a chair across from it and hits the first reality TV show Netflix suggests.

It's oddly therapeutic – the mundanity of people _house-hunting_ when he just ruptured a timeline is so normal it's comforting – and by the third hour he's out.

. o .

Footsteps in the hallway wake him at six thirty.

Barry jerks upright, exhaling sharply in surprise. He can't explain his presence, so he makes quick work of tidying up – half a second later, it's like he was never there – and darts out the opposite door before Dr. Wells finishes rounding the corner.

Ten minutes later – showered, freshly clothed, and feeling two percent more human – he sidles into the lab, ignoring the pounding headache behind his eyes.

"Up early this morning, Barry," Dr. Wells comments lightly, amused. "Is something troubling you?" he asks, turning to face him when Barry doesn't immediately reply.

Barry thinks his face must give something away; Dr. Wells frowns.

Clearing his throat, Barry says softly, "I'm working on a case and . . . it _definitely_ involves someone we need to talk about."

"Do tell," Dr. Wells says quietly, wheeling forward until they're six feet apart.

Leaning against the table, Barry draws in a deep, steadying breath and says, "Mark Mardon is alive. And he murdered the coroner."

"Why?"

Barry shrugs, shaking his head and feigning ignorance. "We're still . . . investigating."

"Interesting."

Dr. Wells gives him an interesting look, too, like he knows Barry's hiding something. Not that Barry is a particularly astute liar. He still looks aside, not directly meeting his eyes, and feels some of the pressure relieved from his shoulders when Joe saunters in.

"You fill him in yet?" Joe asks, nodding to Dr. Wells. "Hell of a story. Mark Mardon's back and wants me dead." Huffing, he dilutes the seriousness of the statement with a scoffed, _Tch_."

And Dr. Wells looks at him with bright, calculating eyes, seeing through him, Barry thinks, _This is going to be a fun day._

 _Act 1, Scene 2. Star Labs_.

. o .

Barry wishes he'd studied Shakespeare a little more closely. Dramatic irony existed for situations like this.

 _They can't know what you know_ , it whispers in his ear.

Luckily, they love a challenge. Thinking out loud is their specialty. All Barry has to do is step aside and let them have the floor.

"Clyde Mardon has a brother," Caitlin says, almost wonderingly, staring at the screen.

"So _both_ Mardon brothers survive the plane crash," Dr. Wells muses, "and the dark energy released by the particle accelerator explosions affects _them in_ –"

"Virtually the same way," Barry finishes, virtually simultaneously.

Dr. Wells turns sharply to face him. "That's right."

He has the floor. Barry speaks slowly, almost deliberately, but he feels out of place, like an actor without his lines. "Only – Mark's not like Clyde at all. He can do things that . . ." he shakes his head, visualizing the tidal wave, the sheer, raw, devastating power behind it, and concludes, "you couldn't even _imagine_."

Cisco's amused, proud, and Barry knows it's coming, remembering it like his own heartbeat: "You mean he's _sort of like a—_ "

It hits him before he can stop it. "'Weather Wizard'?"

Cisco gives him an odd look, sounding vaguely petulant when he says, "Yeah." Cisco _does_ have dibs on naming the meta-humans. Barry doesn't know where the compulsion to say the line came from except – he feels like he's being _incorporated_ , like the universe is learning to accept him again, as if he doesn't belong here but might, just might, if he learns to walk the right steps.

Sipping his smoothie, Cisco lets out a loud " _Mm!_ "

Caitlin and Barry answer in tandem: "Trigeminal headache?"

 _Really subtle_ , Barry thinks, congratulating himself for being the Worst Actor Ever.

Dr. Wells' voice is steady but stern when he says, "Mr. Allen. A word, please."

It isn't a question. Barry thinks, _This could be a good thing._

Dr. Wells has helped him get out of some crazy situations before. He _knew_ that – maybe – something extraordinary happened when Barry saw himself in the Speed Force.

"Yeah," he says, innocently compliant, following Dr. Wells into a side room, feeling Joe's gaze on his back.

They're barely in the room before Dr. Wells speaks, sharp, brisk. "You ruptured the time continuum, didn't you?"

Barry hurries to shut the door, thinking, _I am not ready for this conversation._

"You're experiencing temporal reversion."

 _How do you know?_

He's so startled he's grateful, saying, "Yeah—"

"How long?" Dr. Wells cuts in.

"Ah – a day, and some change, it's like I'm _living_ it all over again."

Except it's not because his footprints weren't washed from the sand – they still exist, stretching out before him, connecting point B on the distant horizon with point A. He hasn't even made the steps but he knows the path, knows exactly where his feet should fall, knows how to step in line to ensure he _arrives_ at point B, _goes home_ , except—

 _Tsunami_.

There is nothing after point B. Only a void. It's a dead end.

He has to stray from the path.

The realization hits him hard.

 _I have . . . to change this timeline._

He can't rewatch the same play. He needs to change the story before things spiral out of control again and people _die_ because of it.

No one's going to die this time.

No one.

"Yeah, well, that's good, that means there's not too much you could've messed up yet," Dr. Wells continues, oblivious to his train of thought. "How did this happen?"

He's stumbling, struggling to put the experience into words. "I don't know, I – I mean I was running faster than I've ever ran, and – and the first time I lived this day, some really _horrible_ things happened, there was this tidal wave and—"

Dr. Wells holds up a hand, saying briskly, " _No_ , do not tell me. I do not want to know _anything_ about the future you experienced. Nothing."

He doesn't understand, he doesn't _get it_ , and he might be the only one capable so Barry _has to try_ , breaking the rules, pushing ahead. "Okay, but, Dr. Wells, I—"

" _Barry_." There's muted thunder in his voice. _Proceed no further._ " _Time . . ._ is an extremely _fragile_ construct. _Any_ deviation, no matter how small, could result in a cataclysm. Now here's what you're going to do—"

Something – sinks in him. Hope. A possibility to _not_ be the only one who knows what point B is, why he doesn't belong here, _what home was_.

He's alone.

He's well and truly _alone_.

He can't stand, so he sits on the edge of the platform, hands over his face, listening to Dr. Wells with a growing sense of despair.

" _Everything_. . . you did before, every word you uttered—" he looks up, disbelieving, because _you don't understand, Dr. Wells, I have to_ – "every _step_ you took, you're going to do again. And you're not going to tell _anyone_ this happened."

It hasn't really – sunk in, yet. The reality that this is not going to end, he is never going to reunite with his future, he will always be a day behind, he is the _only person_ alive who knows what happened.

The isolation of it all strangles him.

When it becomes apparent Barry has nothing to say, Dr. Wells leaves him.

It takes a long time before he works up the strength to stand again and face the new day.

. o .

A short walk brings him to _Act 1, Scene 3, Precinct_.

Seeing Captain Singh in his office, _on his feet_ , is such a powerful experience Barry thinks the _deviation_ is worth it just for that. He starts to see the footprints in the sand less as guiding tools towards home, a happy ending, and more steps towards devastation. A cliff.

A cataclysm.

He sees the lightning _strike Singh down_ , vivid, breathtaking, and has to look aside.

 _Deviate_ , his mind urges. _Don't let that happen again._

He's openly disobeyed Dr. Wells before, but this – this is on a different level.

 _If I screw up,_ everyone _could die_.

He couldn't live with himself. He _didn't_ live the first time.

 _Guess I just have to rewrite it_ , Barry thinks grimly.

It starts with Joe and Eddie leaving Singh's office.

Joe walks up to him and the urge to say, _Joe, we really need to talk_ almost overpowers him. But he needs to be calm, he needs to be rational, and above all else, he needs to be _careful_. So he listens first. Speaks second.

"Hey. What's going on with you? How'd you figure all of that stuff out at the morgue?"

 _Careful_. "Lucky guesses, I guess."

"Look, I'm telling you." Joe looks into his eyes with utter authority, finishing, "I'm gonna get Mardon if it kills me."

Barry's heart skips a beat. He almost can't speak. "Joe. Um—" _The car goes up in flames and that was too close, Barry almost didn't grab him, don't get in the car, Barry, don't get in the car—_

He can't let Joe invite him to lunch. _Don't get in the car._

Inspiration hits him. _Don't let him go after Mardon._

"I gotta run an errand. I'll see you later, all right?"

He knows he's too smiley for his somber demeanor – Joe sees right through him whenever he tries to pretend he isn't in distress – but he feels a new confidence as the idea overtakes him. Almost giddy with it.

 _Stop Mardon._

 _Stop everything_.

It's the perfect plan.

After Joe was kidnapped, Eddie debriefed them at the precinct about the situation. Mentioned the Mardon Brothers' hideout.

How _Mardon planted a trap_ for Joe.

Couldn't plant a trap for someone who arrived ahead of schedule.

. o .

 _Act 1, Scene 4, Mardon Brothers' Hideout_ doesn't lead to tragedy. Eddie and Joe are never even present. It's mid-morning, not late afternoon, when Barry Flashes onto the scene. He scans each room for signs of life, startling Mark Mardon when he finally strikes gold.

And he sees _red_ , triumph burning through him.

"I didn't know there was anyone else like me," Mardon says, sounding uneasy, and then Barry grabs him before he can so much as conjure a snowball, and they're gone.

Six minutes later, he's in the pipeline.

Scene 4 concludes with a dusting of his hands and a broad smile, Mardon's threats falling with startling apathy on Barry's ears.

"I'm gonna get out of here," he vows, "and I'm gonna create a tidal wave that's gonna destroy your entire city!"

 _Not this time_.

They shut the door and Barry wants to feel unabashed relief, but he can't. There's something nagging at him. He hasn't reached point B. Wherever point B is. It's only been a few hours.

 _Too fast_.

"So, I still don't understand," Cisco admits, as _Act 1, Scene 4, Hideout_ becomes _Act 1, Scene 4, Star Labs_. "How did you find him?"

"Uh—" He grasps at straws, coming up with an imaginative, "I just had a hunch."

Dr. Wells is giving him a very strange look. An unreadable look.

"That's gotta be some kind of record," Caitlin says with a smile.

Cisco laughs, relieving some of the pressure. They share a look and Barry thinks, _Whatever is going to happen next, they're alive._

Cisco says, "Well, there goes my excuse for bailing on my brother's birthday."

In a perfect world, that would be it – end of story. Everyone lives happily ever after.

But that's not how plays works.

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?" Dr. Wells asks darkly once Caitlin and Cisco are out of earshot.

"Yeah, I do," Barry says, defensive, as he turns to face him. "I just saved a lot of lives."

Dr. Wells is unimpressed. _Dr. Wells didn't see the tsunami. He's just as blind as everyone else._

 _This is your call. You're the only one who knows what_ could _happen_.

"I warned you not to mess with the timeline," Dr. Wells growls.

He tries one last time to reach through to him. "Dr. Wells, if you would just let me tell you what was gonna happen, you'd understand why I did this."

Immovably, Dr. Wells bites out, " _Whatever_ tragedy you _think_ you've just averted, time will find a way to replace it and trust me, Barry . . . the next one? Could be much worse."

Standing alone outside Mardon's cell, isolated from everyone, it occurs to Barry with a disconcerting sense of prescience that the hero never sees the tragedy coming in the first act.

. o .

Later, he'll piece together that Act 2, Scene 1, Cold's New Hideout takes place around the same time as Act 2, Scene 2, Dante's birthday party.

It's misleadingly calm. Trivial problems. _Nothing I can't handle_.

But he's not there. He's ahead – always ahead – in Act 2, Scene 3, Star Labs. Running as _fast_ as he can on the treadmill because _it wasn't a fluke, it couldn't just – be – a fluke._

His legs are tiring and his lungs screaming, but he just doesn't seem to be _moving_ anywhere. Sure, he's running fast, but nothing changes. Except the fact that he's panting like a war horse when the treadmill finally slows to a stop, Dr. Wells wheeling forward.

"I don't get it," he says, frustrated, because "I've been running just as fast as I was." Sitting on the edge of the treadmill, he exhales, adding, "When it _happened_. And nothing. I-I'm still here."

 _Here_ is starting to feel more real; changing it almost makes it more like home. _I can control the story,_ he thinks.

But he can't leave it unexplored. The possibility that he can travel through time is too life-changing _not_ to pursue.

Except, for all appearances, it seems to have been a one-off situation.

Dr. Wells mediates the conflicting frustration at his failure and dizzying sense of two realities with a calm, implacable tone. "Any number of things could have triggered that allowed you to repeat your day. Your emotions, your circumstances, your cortisol levels – all of the above."

He has to admit: it's a compelling argument. "I – I mean my adrenaline _was_ super high since Iris and the entire city—"

"No, no, no, no details, I told you," Dr. Wells says, cutting him off.

He sighs; he's not winning that argument. "All right. I'm _sorry_ , but Mark Mardon's already locked in the pipeline and nothing bad has happened."

"Yet."

It's snarky and Barry knows he's suppressing his own concerns to say something so flippant. _I just ruptured the timeline._

Something _is going to happen._

They hadn't hit point B yet.

Somehow, they would – and Barry didn't know what would happen once they were there, once _tomorrow_ arrived.

Joe enters the room, prompting Dr. Wells to say, "Detective."

Barry straightens, finding his composure. "Hey – what are you doing here?"

Joe's voice is flat, unamused, as he says, "So when were you planning on telling me you took down Mardon?"

 _Never, actually, because that isn't supposed to have happened yet—_

"I – I just haven't had a chance yet."

Joe sees right through him. Luckily, the truth is too absurd for him to guess. "You got sidetracked, you mean."

"No – Joe," the absurdity of the situation actually makes him laugh because, "you can't be _mad_."

"I'm not mad." And he doesn't sound mad, either. "But I am curious." Which is probably actually worse than mad, when it comes to the whole _not revealing too much_ deal. "I mean, you were acting so weird at the crime scene."

 _Play it off_. "I – _always_ act weird."

"Okay, _weirder_ ," Joe counters.

Barry – can't actually think of a proper response that isn't _I time-traveled_. He looks to Dr. Wells, who just stares back, politely curious to see how he'll handle it.

At last, he settles on, "Look, Joe, there are just – some things that – I can't tell you and you're gonna have to trust me."

Joe's eyebrows arch and Barry knows he wants to keep pushing – however subtly he has to in order to find the truth – but Barry's phone buzzes, Linda's name showing up.

Exhales because: "Hey, Linda."

" _You're late._ "

"Yeah, I know – I'm so sorry. I – I lost track." _Smooth._ "I'm gonna head that way now."

" _Great. I'll see you soon._ "

"All right. Bye."

At least being late for a date is good for one thing.

"I have a lunch date with Linda," he tells them, almost apologetically – a little too relieved to pull it off. "I gotta run."

And he's gone.

. o .

 _Act 2, Scene 4, CCPN_.

"Hey, I am here – so sorry, again."

He collapses on the steps beside her desk. He's a little breathless – running around on an empty stomach always leaves him winded – but it's worth being _less_ late for the way Linda smiles when she turns in her chair to speak to him. "Well," she says, "you get a pass, considering you're never late."

It makes him laugh which is refreshing even if he's hungry which is less refreshing, but he tries to put as much focus as he can on her words as she speaks.

"Hey – what's going on with you? Lately?"

 _A lot_.

He shakes his head, dissuading. "Nothing."

Linda looks skyward briefly at the absurdity of the lie. "Come on. Give me a little credit here."

Her tone is soft enough that he _tries_ , narrowing it down to: "I've just been – dealing with _a lot_ of things lately."

When she nods, there's resignation in her eyes. And something in him – the Other Flash, the one who watched his world burn and thought _Iris_ before he ran – resigns, too.

He's gentle, but there's no easy way to say it. "I like you, Linda," he says quietly, earnestly, "and we really get along."

"Relationships should be more than just getting along." _I'm so sorry_. "Your heart should ache for me." She looks at him seriously, cocking her head a little, willing herself to misinterpret where he's going. "Does it?"

It's hard proving someone right when you're giving them bad news.

In the end, he doesn't say anything, and she puts one hand over his folded ones.

"You're not upset with me?" he asks, surprised at her magnanimity.

She shakes her head and he realizes why he decided to date her when she says, "No one did anything wrong."

He hates himself a little bit for all of it – leading her on that they could be something when his heart was never _fully_ in it, always occupied with that _what if_ that became a reality – in another world.

"I really – do feel a lot for you, Linda," he says, standing, still trying to keep his tone as gentle as possible. "It's just – "

"Just not as much as you feel for someone else," Linda finishes, standing and meeting his eyes.

He's amazed at how _not_ bitter she is. Can't help his relief and delight when she actually looks at Iris and says, "Go get her."

She kisses him on the cheek and that's it. The end of another relationship.

 _The beginning of a new one_ , he thinks, heart racing as he realizes that he – doesn't have to _hide_ anymore.

 _Deviate_ , he thinks, lightly, musingly. _Don't walk the same steps_.

He almost can't see the same steps he once walked – only vaguely remembers that it's getting close to the tidal wave; Iris was getting a call from Mardon about now explaining that he had Joe – but he sees a future before him.

 _Mardon's locked away. Joe is safe. Cisco and Caitlin are fine. Dr. Wells is fine._

 _And Iris . . . Iris has the same feelings_.

Dr. Wells is lying.

He _definitely_ made the right move.

So he steps in as Mason Bridge holds out a photo, interjecting lightly, "Hey, Iris." Then, politely, he adds, "Mr. Bridge, hi."

Mason Bridge frowns. "Do I know you?"

" _Oh_." He needs a guide: _what I should and should not already know in this timeline_. "No. We haven't met. Yet. _Fully_." Resolving that _that_ is a lost cause, he directs his attention at Iris, still a little giddy with excitement, and asks, "Iris, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." She hands Bridge a folder, sounding confused, almost sad, and Barry wonders what signs he's missing.

He's the fastest man alive, but he's not the quickest. Subtle cues can and do escape him.

Hating that he doesn't know the source of her chagrin, he plays it subtle. Smiles at Bridge.

Bridge gives him a singularly unreadable look as he says, "Nice meeting you, strange young man."

They walk and it's starting to fall into place – _she has the same feelings, just make it official_ – so he's almost caught off guard when she asks, "Is everything okay with Linda?"

"Uh – no, that's done," he says briskly.

"Oh – " The genuine surprise on Iris' face briefly eclipses her sadness as she says, "I am so sorry."

Hurrying to fill the void, he assures her, "No, no, no, it's okay. We're gonna be friends." _Are we?_ Doesn't even seem to matter, heart ready to burst because he's _actually doing this_. "Um, yeah, no, it's gonna be awesome." Iris lifts her eyebrows, smiling at him in an overly bright way, the _I support you fully, Barry_ way, and so he takes another step farther from that original timeline. "Uh, anyway, are you—free? Tomorrow? Do you wanna get some coffee? And we can just talk and tell each other – stuff, I don't know, stuff we got – rolling around in there. You know—I don't know."

She looks surprised, but her response is still quick, which is good as far as Barry's concerned. "Okay. Yeah—sure. Sounds great."

 _She said yes_ translates immediately to a very enthusiastic: "Okay, great! Great! All right, I'll see you."

 _It's happening!_

He walks towards the door, pausing at Bridge's desk. He can't help it. _Go big or go home_. If he's going to mess up the timeline, then he might as well do it to the fullest of his ability to make things _right_. So he says, "I know you think that Harrison Wells had something to do with Simon Stagg's disappearance, but you're wrong."

Then he walks out so he can properly fist-punch the air out of sight.

 _It's happening!_

. o .

 _Act 3, Scene 1, Bar_.

So he stopped a tidal wave, broke off a relationship in order to free himself up to finally enter the relationship he's been pining over for years, captured Mardon with zero loss of life, _and_ even put Bridge off Dr. Wells' trail.

Things are going _great_.

He rewards himself to a fantastic lunch in his lab at the precinct, devouring enough boxes of pizza that Joe walks in with a: "Damn, Hercules. Save some for the rest of us mortals, would you?"

He's still feeling the twelfth box of pizza by the time he shows up at the bar, sated and soporific. It's easy to settle into the new lifestyle. He's starting to feel less like a stranger in this world and more like a _creator_. He's _powerful_. He knows where things _could have gone_ and so he knows where things instead _could go_. That knowledge steers him in all the right directions.

Everyone's safe, everyone's happy, and our intrepid hero gets all the pizza he can eat.

Job well done.

He's actually _beaming_ when he clasps Cisco on the shoulders, saying, "Hey!"

Cisco's response is muted, somber. "Hey, man. Thanks for meeting me here. Even though you can't get drunk."

 _High off life_ , he thinks, laughing.

How did he ever think this was a _bad_ thing?

The farther he gets from the old timeline, the less intimidated he feels by it. He can't even hear the wave anymore; only picture it. If he tries. Which he does not, because he's here to support Cisco and focus on the _good_ things in his life.

"No worries," he assures brightly.

Cisco's still dragging a little as he takes a sip of his drink and asks, "So— how was your day?"

"Great!" Twelve boxes of pizza, locking up a meta-human before lunch, one step closer to the best part of the old timeline, _Iris_. "But, uh, Linda and I did break up," he adds belatedly.

Cisco stares. "That's the first time I've heard anyone use the word 'great' to describe a break up."

He shakes his head, still smiling. "I have – a feeling that I'm about to move forward with someone really special."

Catching on, Cisco grins at him. "Okay, go ahead, Barry."

Barry laughs because how did a day that ended in so much tragedy end in so much _joy_ this time around?

Before either of them can speak, there's a woman standing beside Barry, smiling shyly. "Hi." She's beautiful and Barry can't help but be surprised because neither Cisco nor he fall into the super model category. Beautiful women don't usually approach them. "I don't normally do this," she says apologetically, "but I was watching you and . . . can I buy you a drink?"

Barry's eyebrows arch, dazed but oddly gratified. "Uh—wow, I'm really flattered, but I—"

"Actually, I was talking to him."

Cisco looks almost as shocked as Barry feels. _Oh._

"I'm sorry, you – you said you were talking to _me_?"

"Yeah," she says with a smile, "I just told my friends over there that I thought you were cute and they dared me to come over and talk to you. So . . . please talk to me."

Barry's grinning, trying to keep it contained, because _attaboy_.

"Yeah," Cisco says, trying and failing to play it cool, "yeah, I suppose I can talk to you for a little bit." Under his breath, he orders, " _Dude, get out_."

"Yeah, I was just leaving," Barry says, getting up. Leaning over, he tells Cisco, "Make me proud."

Looks like _everyone_ is having a great night, Barry thinks, delighted.

. o .

Okay, so maybe not _everyone_ is having a great night.

 _Act 3, Scene 2, Cold's Hideout_ shatters the idyllic illusion.

Not that Barry realizes it at the time.

He's at home, half-drunk on eight pints of Neapolitan ice cream, fast asleep on Joe's couch.

. o .

This is his moment to shine.

 _Act 3, Scene 3._

 _Jitters_.

He slept in late, scrambled to get here _early_ , and somehow pulls it off. Sitting at a table for two, he smiles when she joins him, greeting, "Hey!"

"Hey." She's softer, more subdued, but he isn't worried.

"One incredibly heavy cronut," he introduces, gesturing at the table, "and one Americano with an extra shot."

She sits down with a smile, saying, "Just the way I like it" and he echoes the same.

"Yeah, I know," he adds, breathless with anticipation. This is the moment. It's happening later than the original timeline – almost a full day later, actually – but that's okay. This is meant to be. It's gonna happen. It's gonna be _great_. So he dredges up every ounce of courage he possesses and says, "I know you, Iris."

It's hard to speak when he's this excited, just smiling so hard it almost hurts because _I can't believing this is happening_.

And they're not going to die, either.

Everything's going to be okay.

Iris doesn't catch on right away – which is fine! She doesn't know, she can't know, how it played out originally. Even if he might have quietly hoped it would trigger the reaction just by putting her in a setting where he was _really listening_. Instead, she asks slowly, "So what is going on with you? You're acting like Christmas came early." She smiles as she takes a tip of her Americano.

Barry thinks, _This is so much better than Christmas_.

He didn't eat anything for breakfast and he _definitely_ has jitters, so it's hard to contain his own excitement. He actually laughs, struggling to pull together the words he wants to _say_ , to make it count. Make it a beautiful moment. A _better_ moment. "Uh, yeah, no, I guess it – did. Kind of." He rests his arms on the table, aching to be closer to her, to just say, _I'm in love with you, I'm in love with you, I am so so in love with you and so ready for us to be a thing and not because there's a giant wall of water about to kill everyone but because we're meant to be together, Iris, I can feel it and I know you can too, you told me._

Little much. Tone it down, Barry.

"Iris." He takes one of her hands in both of his. "I _still_ think about you all the time and I know you've been thinking about me, too. So let's just – _stop_ thinking and start doing."

It sounds really great, in his head. A perfect moment. A happy moment.

Except: "Barry."

Still, he's not discouraged. "I know, I know that we both have _awful_ timing, but we were meant to me."

Firmly, she repeats, " _Barry_." It isn't friendly. It isn't excited. It's – cold, actually. Unresponsive. "What are you talking about?"

Astonished that she's not getting it – _okay, so I can't just drop hints in this timeline, good to know_ – he explains, "You and me. We like each other."

She pulls back her hand.

"Barry, we've been over this," she says. "Nothing has changed for me. Okay?"

She's being gentle, trying to let him down lightly, but he can't impress it enough: "No, but – it has." _I've seen it. You kissed me. You told me you still had feelings for me._

 _You're still_ you _, Iris. I'm still me._

 _We love each other._

 _We can't stop pretending differently_.

And she asks the single most devastating question: "How do you know that?"

 _God I just want to tell you_.

"I just—" He falters. Comes back to it. "I just know some stuff. Somehow." He's losing her, he _has_ to say something, but he's never been a good liar. "I don't know, maybe it's like – ESP or something."

It makes perfect sense to him. But she says for a third time: "Barry."

And he knows it's not going to go the way he hopes.

"I love Eddie, okay? I'm sorry—" she's getting up, no, _don't get up, Iris, please_ "—but nothing has changed for me since Christmas. And you can't keep springing this on me." Coat on. How did he misread the signs? _Where did he go wrong?_ He's about to tell her he _didn't_ because _you're still you_ , but she's still speaking. "It's not fair that you keep making me the bad guy who keeps telling you no."

She stands up.

 _Iris, please._

She walks away.

 _Iris._

She's out the door.

 _Iris._

And she's gone.

. o .

The mood is somber in _Act 3, Scene 4, Star Labs._

His appetite is gone, his emotions wrung out – lying to Joe and Iris and Cisco and Caitlin and _all of them_ about what happened is a lot harder than he hoped – and his spirits are definitely flagging when he walks into Star Labs. Walks, too.

He doesn't feel like running.

Tapping the top of the door to announce his arrival, he steps inside the cortex. They turn and Caitlin immediately has a playfully sarcastic comment: "What, no whoosh in?"

He isn't feeling it. "I needed the walk," he says slowly. It didn't help, but it was better than running.

Dr. Wells sounds genuinely concerned when he asks, "What happened?"

 _I completely misread a situation and hurt two people._

"Nothing," he tells them, because they aren't worried about his personal affairs, just the important stuff. The tsunamis and kidnappings and meta-human stuff. "Linda. Iris." For half a second, he thinks it'll be helpful to talk, but the urge dies almost as quickly as it arises. "I don't want to talk about it, actually."

Caitlin and Dr. Wells are his friends because Dr. Wells' "okay" is enough.

They let it go. They let him process in peace.

"Have you talked to Cisco?" Caitlin asks, surprising him because it isn't like Cisco to not answer Caitlin. "I've been trying him on his cell phone, but he's not answering." Then, with genuine concern, she adds, "I'm kind of – worried about him. He had a rough night."

And Barry remembers _attaboy_.

"Trust me. It got better," he assures with a smile. His phone buzzes and he picks up. "Hey, Joe. What's up?"

" _Yeah, Snart's back_."

"Wait, _Cold_ is back?"

" _Yeah, he was spotted at the Santini crime family casino. If he's hitting the Santinis, we could be looking at the beginning of a mob war._ "

 _That's not good_.

Understatement, but Barry has to weigh it against the receding trail of footsteps behind him, leading towards that endpoint: _tidal wave_.

There was no future there. So no matter _how_ bad the situation is here – it can't be worse.

 _We'll fix this_.

Joe hangs up before he can reply.

"Well, this day just keeps getting better, doesn't it?" Dr. Wells says, looking at Barry with a pointed smile.

It says: _You don't know what you're doing_.

And Barry can't help but agree.

. o .

 _Act 4, Scene 1, Casino._

God, he could really use an opportunity to take out some of his frustration.

Luckily, they have a location. They know their suspects. It's a cut-and-dry case: catch Snart before anyone gets hurt. Stop the mob war in its tracks.

Unfortunately, Snart's a little faster than they anticipated. At least one fatality: a man covered from crown to heel in gold. Injured men on the floor. Barry gets the rest of the mobsters out so he can have a clear playing field.

Once that's established – he thinks, _You are going to be so sorry you wanted a standoff with me today._

"How many times are we going to do this, Snart?" he shouts.

"Until the best man wins," Snart replies, standing up and powering up his gun.

Barry doesn't hesitate, Flashing over and grabbing the woman with the gold gun, snarling, "Drop the gun!"

To his credit, Snart immediately holds up both hands. "We both know you're not going to do anything with her," he says. Barry doesn't like the way he's smiling. "Oh, by the way – meet my baby sister. Lisa, Flash; Flash, Lisa." She eyes him up. Barry thinks, _What do you have, Snart?_

Then he pulls his trump card: "Cisco has been very, very busy."

 _No._

"Unless you want me to mail small, frozen pieces of him back to his family, I'd take your hands off her."

 _Son of a bitch._

He hates that he can't hold her, can't think of a single way to mitigate the risk so Cisco lives. _I didn't start this to have him die_ , Barry thinks.

But there's no way around it. With a disgusted shove, he releases Lisa.

"Let him _go,_ Snart," he says. His voice shakes.

Dr. Wells' words haunt him.

 _Any deviation, no matter how small, could result in a cataclysm._

How many deviations is he up to now? Twelve? A thousand?

Snart doesn't care. Snart never saw the tsunami. All he does is say in his characteristically same clipped tone, "I'll _think_ about it."

Then he's gone.

And Barry swears.

. o .

 _Act 4, Scene 2, Casino_.

"Bar!"

 _Joe, I really don't want to talk_.

But he wouldn't be on the crime scene out of uniform if he didn't expect a talk. So he puts his hands behind his head and braces himself.

Things have to start looking up soon. Right?

"Witnesses reported seeing the Flash," Joe continues in a whisper. "They said you had Snart dead to rights, but you let him go. Why?"

 _If I knew 'why' anymore, I wouldn't be playing this game._

Trying to pick the right answers is exhausting.

Even if it isn't the one he wants, at least he _has_ an answer. It hurts to say it. It's even worse when he thinks, _I let this happen_.

So he looks Joe in the eye and says, "Cisco. Snart and his sister have him."

It's not good news when Joe exhales hard. "Oh, man."

 _Better than a tidal wave_ , Barry chants, trying to reinforce a flagging sense of justifiability to his actions. _Anything is better than a tidal wave._

 _The Other Flash wouldn't have let Cisco get taken_.

It stings, but he makes himself listen to Joe, holding himself together. "Okay. Get to Star Labs. I'll get there when I can."

It helps to have someone else call the shots.

"All right," he says softly.

He thinks, _I never should have stepped on this stage._

 _I should have let the wave happen._

But it leaves him feeling cold, thinking about the millions of people who would have been impacted – killed, injured, without a home or many basic necessities – and the enormity of the recovery process.

No matter how sick it makes him feel to think of the people he hurt in this timeline – the Cisco and Caitlin and Dr. Wells and Iris and Joe and Linda he doesn't _fully know_ anymore because they're from different worlds – he can't regret coming here.

The losses were too great. He had to do something.

He's walking towards the exit, feeling like sweeping by Big Belly Burger for a few dozen milkshakes, something to pick up his energy levels if not his mood, when Eddie calls out, "Allen."

It isn't friendly.

Barry should have read his mood, the _palpable_ waves of aggression, but he's tired, mentally and physically, and when he turns he says slowly, "Eddie, I—"

 _Wow_ , that hurt.

Eddie's a cop, so he knows how to throw a knockout punch – Barry's actually impressed he didn't knock out a tooth.

Joe says, " _Whoa!_ " and puts a hand on Eddie's chest to hold him back before Eddie can consider a second punch.

"Stay away from Iris," Eddie snarls, looking at Barry with frustration, _outrage_.

 _So I guess you heard about our meeting._

He wonders how badly she must have been feeling at the time she told Eddie about it to inspire such a spirited reaction and feels a new surge of guilt.

 _I probably deserved that._

Captain Singh is right there, ever the parental figure, saying, "Hey! If you two have beef, then you take it outside."

"You know what the worst part is, Barry?" Eddie says, ignoring Singh, pushing against Joe's hold. His final words hurt more than the punch. "I thought you and I were _friends_."

. o .

 _Act 4, Scene 5, Star Labs._

Ow.

Caitlin whistles low when he enters the cortex. It's a testament to how bad he must look that she doesn't even say a word as she fishes out an ice pack for him. He hisses as he holds it against the throbbing left half of his face, wishing he could just shrug off being the Flash and Barry Allen for a few days and let someone else handle it. For a few lifetimes, even.

Clearly, he isn't managing it very well.

Ostracizing and endangering his friends, setting into motion an unanticipated series of attacks from Snart, and lying to those closest to him about how he knows what he knows.

Yeah.

He'd like to unsubscribe from the roles of _CSI investigator, friend,_ and _superhero_.

Maybe just go back to being a human being for a little while.

The shock of the last forty eight hours catches up to him, blanketing his thoughts. He's dozing in his seat as Dr. Wells reviews the surveillance footage, looking for clues. They don't have leads and the police are already doing what they can; overall, it's not good. Cisco could be anywhere, and as long as that's the case, he's at Snart's mercy.

And despite Snart's generally nonlethal intentions, Barry knows he's killed before. He's seen it. And in Snart's eyes, Cisco is _expendable_.

When Dr. Wells shows the exact same footage of Cisco getting in Lisa's car, Barry drops the ice pack and slams a hand down on the table. _Enough is enough_. "All right. Dr. Wells, you were right." Looking at him – not even resenting the way he looks satisfied – Barry continues. "I – I screwed with time, and now time is screwing with me. Cold is back, he kidnapped _Cisco_ , and Iris is—"

"Stop right there before you cause another disruption to the timeline."

Dr. Wells' voice is deadly quiet. He's very, very serious.

But Barry is _losing his mind_.

Traveling back in time? Erasing himself from _existence_? Watching everything he knows and loves fall into a certain path for catastrophic destruction?

He can't keep doing it.

He can't be the only person alive who knows what _happened_.

"Please, Dr. Wells." There is no shame. He's just _so tired_. "Please. I have to talk to someone."

He's holding his hands in front of him, clasped almost in prayer, begging, pleading.

Dr. Wells turns to him slowly, assessing him. And finally, he says quietly, "Go ahead."

Barry wants to cry. It's hard to find the words to explain it. He's so _relieved_ that he almost can't speak. But he finds his voice – finds that quiet, shell-shocked survivor still huddling in the corner trying not to screw everything up – and he lets it speak for the first time. Openly. Honestly. No guards up. "In the . . . previous version of today – "

He doesn't know how many days it's been – it feels like centuries – but it doesn't matter. Dr. Wells understands. Dr. Wells is _listening._ He can _help_ Barry.

And right now, he needs help.

He needs help.

"Captain Singh is . . . seriously injured," he says slowly. It feels like talking about a dream. Not entirely real. Maybe it was never real. If he erased that timeline – it never happened. Not to this present, at least.

 _But I was there._

He is a last survivor. The final victim to be taken by the catastrophe.

"Joe is in danger," he goes on, "and Iris said she had feelings for me."

Why is it that, after everything, _that's_ what he gets choked up about? Why is he so _fragile_ that he can break at all, when he should be _overjoyed_ to have an opportunity to save his world and everyone he loves?

 _Because they're not the same_.

They didn't survive the crisis together.

Only he did that.

Telling Dr. Wells helps. Replicates a sense of comradery, if not understanding.

From Dr. Wells, the earnestness of his demeanor – the _intentness_ with which he listens – almost speaks of experience. But Barry's tired. He's desperate. He just wants to believe Dr. Wells can _really_ understand him when the reality is – Dr. Wells could never, ever know what it feels like to travel through time, to break apart two realities, to lose contact with _your world_ forever.

For better or worse.

Slowly, Dr. Wells says, "And now Cisco's life is on the line and Iris has no idea she confessed those feelings to you."

He feels like a child for asking it, but Dr. Wells makes him feel safe. Like he has the answers. Like he can fix it. "But – she still _has_ them. Right?"

Dr. Wells' response is as he expects: neither confirmation nor denial. "The unconscious mind, Barry . . . is a powerful thing. It sounds like . . . it took this apparent disaster to jar those feelings loose. And without the disaster, those feelings remain deeper down. Un-accessed."

On the surface, it doesn't seem like a condemnation. They're still there.

But everyone – _everyone_ – has unconscious impulses that are never acted upon.

Without the tidal wave . . . she might _never_ examine those unconscious feelings more deeply.

Forever out of reach.

He can't help the bitterness in his voice when he says, "I don't understand. I thought that I was helping people by stopping Mardon."

"Yes. But this new ability of yours, Barry . . . is a _dangerous_ thing. You only traveled back in time one day. What if you traveled back decades? Centuries? Imagine the havoc you could wreak."

And – something about the statement triggers a memory. "But – I _will_ have the opportunity to travel back in time in the near future and save my mom." _I was there that night._ "Are . . . you saying I shouldn't?"

It happened once, but Barry's already proven that deviations are possible. _It doesn't have to happen again._

Maybe it shouldn't. Maybe he should leave time-traveling alone, forever.

Dr. Wells' expression is enigmatic. "I'm saying . . . how many more people could die if your mother lives?'

The thought gives Barry's chills.

"Did you guys find Cisco?" Caitlin asks, interluding.

Barry can't speak.

At last, Dr. Wells says, "Not yet."

Caitlin nods, biting her lower lip.

"We'll find him," Barry adds softly.

"Of course," she agrees.

 _We will find him._

. o .

 _Act 5, Scene 1, Cold's New Hideout_.

One question saves Cisco's life.

"Who is the Flash?"

. o .

 _Act 5, Scene 2, Star Labs_.

They haven't slept all night. They can't stop searching. Barry's afraid of what will happen to Cisco if they let a minute pass without investigating further into the kidnapping.

But their leads are turning up _nothing_ , and he's punch-drunk with fatigue, barely thinking.

"There's nothing on the satellite thermography," Caitlin says, radiating calm composure.

Barry doesn't know how she does it. He feels like ten years have been added to his life. "You were right," he says slowly, almost slurring his words. "This is all my fault."

"How is this your fault?" Caitlin asks.

Barry doesn't have the energy to explain it to her. _Because I walked away. I changed all of our lives. I didn't make the right move and Cisco got hurt because of it_.

"Brave heart, Barry," Dr. Wells cajoles, "we'll get Cisco back."

"I'm back."

It's the first _real_ feeling Barry has had since the time he came to this new universe: _relief_.

Profound, earth-shattering relief.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Caitlin asks. They're both moving towards Cisco, hardly daring to believe he's there.

 _Please don't let this be a dream,_ Barry begs.

Caitlin hugs Cisco, voicing both of their concerns: "We were so worried."

 _This isn't a dream_.

"What happened?" he asks, needing to know. To understand what _could_ happen.

"How did you escape?" Dr. Wells echoes.

Cisco looks dazed, horrified. When he says, "I didn't" Barry's eyebrows arch.

"Snart just let you go? Why?"

Cisco's nodding slowly, tears in his eyes, explaining, "He - he tortured my brother." Cisco has a vaguely black eye and Barry can't stop staring at it. His heart hurts. "And he said he was gonna kill him if I didn't – if I didn't tell him – "

"Tell him what?" Caitlin prompts.

"Who the Flash really is."

 _Oh, my god_.

Barry doesn't know what to say. He has no words.

A lot of emotions surge to the surface. Fear. Shock. Concern.

Anger is not one of them. Cisco babbles an apology regardless, sounding – _desperate_ to explain. "I – honestly, man, they could've killed me." He's crying and Barry wonders how he's holding it together except that he has to and _Cisco, Cisco, it's okay_. He's stepping forward, slow, involuntary steps. Cisco chokes, "But they were gonna kill my brother. I couldn't let them do that."

He hasn't felt it since he broke the time continuum, but he feels it now: the way he can project energy into a room. Normally it's unconscious; he runs warmer than most people, but he doesn't actively project his own emotions. But seeing Cisco in such distress coaxes it out of him: there's a soft undercurrent of peace around him, trying to ease the pain in the room.

 _Compassion_ doesn't mean kindness.

It means _suffering alongside_ another person.

That's what it feels like, watching Cisco cry. Knowing that Cisco was trapped between a situation where he had to choose between _his brother's life_ and Barry's stupid alter-ego.

 _Easy_ , the peace-bearing vibes remind him. He doesn't know where the idea comes from: maybe it's an echo of that Other Flash who died happy ( _too young_ ).

 _Speed isn't the root of all evil. It's just speed. You're just the Flash. Everyone makes mistakes. It'll get put back together. Somehow._

Talking to Cisco helps reinforce the message. He puts a hand on his shoulder, channeling the warmth towards him. "Hey," he says softly. "I put you in that position." He pulls Cisco in for a hug, suffusing it with as much forgiveness as he can, adding quietly, "I'm the one who's sorry."

Cisco hugs him back tightly and Barry can feel how close he is to sobbing, but he pulls back, tight-lipped, and walks away.

"Where are you going?" Barry asks.

Cisco pauses, leaning against the counter, and Barry hates how powerless he feels as he watches him slipping quietly away. "I don't deserve to be here. I won't be the one to put you in jeopardy. Not again." Shaking his head, he repeats, "Never again."

And then he's gone.

 _We'll get him back_ , that same methodical voice promises Barry. _He'll come home._

He's not so sure. But he has to trust it.

The future can't move forward unless they take those steps. Standing still gets them nowhere. But it's easier – nicer – simpler to stay still sometimes.

. o .

It starts to feel like maybe they can win by _Act 5, Scene 3._

 _Star Labs_.

Barry doesn't know what Dr. Wells says to Cisco. He doesn't want to: it's a moment between them. Cisco deserves that. And he knows Dr. Wells, how he can just – _get you_ when you're at your lowest. How perfectly he understands Barry at times. How he doesn't confront his speed as a scary thing, even though it _can_ be, but approaches each challenge with diligence.

If anyone can talk Cisco back down, it's Dr. Wells.

When they return, looking like a _team_ again, Barry feels something in his chest loosen.

And now?

He's past smiling – too tired for it, really – but as a plan comes together he thinks, _I'm not gonna mess this up_.

. o .

 _Act 5, Scene 4, Middle of the Woods_.

Snart really doesn't have much to say that Barry cares to listen to.

Because before, the thought of his identity leaking to the world would have been devastating. Instead, he realizes that – really, of all the people to learn his true identity, Leonard Snart is not the worst candidate. He does at least have a twisted sense of morals. He _can_ be talked to and reasoned with. And he thinks maybe they can even arrive at a truce.

Still, it's hard to keep his cool when he looks at the man who kidnapped Cisco. "Good to see you – _Barry_ ," Snart says.

Barry resists the urge to snarl, drawing back his mask instead. _You don't scare me_. "We have to talk," he says forcefully. "I know Cisco told you who I am."

Snart removes his goggles, smiling. Barry wants to punch him, resisting the urge only because they really do _need_ to talk about this. Even if it's hard to listen. "Can't really blame the kid for giving you up. You or his brother? Come on. I put him in a tight spot. Same kind I got you in right now. Can't really stop me now that I know who you are."

Barry can't resist: "I could speed you to my own private prison where you'll never see the light of day."

"You _could_ , but then I won't be around to stop my own private uplink that'll broadcast your identity to the world. So the million-dollar question: what to do with me now, Barry Allen?"

From the start, Barry thinks, _this_ was the prize.

Leverage.

Still: he's not going down without a fight. "I won't let you keep stealing whatever you want, whenever you feel like it. It needs to end."

Lightly, Snart replies, "Can't do that. It's what I do."

"Then find a new line of work."

With a full body shrug, Snart echoes, "Don't want to."

"Why's that?"

"The same reason you keep running after guys like me," Snart explains patiently. "The adrenaline. The thrill of the chase."

 _God, you don't get it at all._

But Barry can't help but smile.

He doesn't do it because he enjoys chasing down criminals or putting them away. He does it because he enjoys making other people's lives _better_. Whatever he can do, he does. And because he has these powers, he has the capacity to do _so much more_ than he ever thought he would be able to.

He has to use that.

"I love this game," Snart says, unaware of his true feelings, enshrouded in his own, "and I'm very good at it."

 _Life isn't a game._

"Then go play it somewhere else," Barry orders. "Leave Central City."

"Can't do that either. I love it here." He inhales deeply, gesturing towards the sky, and Barry wonders how people like Snart exist. What their worldview must be like to be willing to hurt so many people just to get what they want. "This city is my home," Snart finishes.

Barry huffs. Taking decisive steps forward, he says seriously, "You've seen what I can do. You _know_ that I can stop you. You wanna keep pushing your luck? Go for it. But from here on out, no one else dies. If you're as good as you say you are, you don't have to kill anyone to get what you want."

Snart tilts his head to one side, conceding, "That's true."

Aware that they've finally reached an ultimatum both of them can live with, Barry steps forward, feeling the fire under his skin, the lightning ready to stand with him if he needs it. That's what it's for, ultimately: to be there for him when he needs it.

"And if you," he says softly, advancing, "or _anyone_ in your 'rogues gallery' goes near _any_ of my friends or family again . . . I don't _care_ who you tell my identity to. I'm putting you away."

And at last, the magic words: "I guess your secret's safe . . . _Flash_." But because he's Leonard Snart, he can't risk qualifying it. " _For now_."

Barry ignores the threat, pulling the mask back over his face, feeling the authority behind it.

Sometimes he's a mixture of the two people: Barry and the Flash. Sometimes he's just Barry or only the Flash, like at the office or up against a meta-human.

But in that moment, he feels the coexistence of them. Protecting his identity _and_ his friends. Doing his job, but not forgetting who he's doing it _for_ , either.

Saving his world and himself. Coming to terms with both.

When Snart asks for a lift back, he grins and takes off without him.

 _Doesn't count as a deviation if it didn't happen the first time_ , he thinks, chasing down the surge of satisfaction the entire way home.

. o .

 _Act 5, Scene 5, Jitters_.

God, there is _no place_ like home.

He's sore and stiff and hungry, so he heads to Jitters because it's warm and bright and being around people is comforting. Plus, he can snag some heavy-calorie snacks to compensate for the run. He's looking forward to a quiet evening when he walks through the door and Eddie strides up the aisle towards him, intent, purposeful.

Barry says, "I—"

Eddie hugs him.

Barry blinks. _I'm sorry?_

"I am so sorry, pal."

 _Pal?_

"It's not like me to hit anyone. I don't know what came over me."

"Uh – thanks, Eddie." Thinking back to how reckless he was, he can't help but feel it was pretty deserved, actually. Neither extreme is good: changing too much or not enough. A lesson he'd rather not have to repeat. Looking between Eddie and Iris, though, he has to admit – he doesn't understand the change of heart. "It's okay."

"You poor thing," Iris says. Barry can't help but thinking, _I missed something. Am I dying?_ "I had no idea."

The way she talks, solicitous, apologetic, makes him wonder _what_ exactly is going on. So he says, "Is that right? But _what,_ exactly, did you have no idea about?"

Caitlin jumps in and – _Caitlin?_

 _I missed a lot_.

"I was just explaining to Iris and Eddie about your Lightning Psychosis."

Barry's eyebrows threaten to hit his hairline. "My what now?"

"Your Lightning Psychosis," Caitlin reiterates calmly. "How your recent odd behavior is a side effect of being struck by lightning."

 _Extraordinary_.

She doesn't even know _why_ he's been acting so strangely or what he's been hiding and yet she still covers for him.

Nodding in belated agreement, he listens to her ramble on about his 'condition.' "You know, mood swings, sudden outbursts of affection, and other lapses in judgment."

 _Sounds about right_.

Of course, it's less than gratifying when Iris turns to Caitlin and promptly says, "He has had all of those things. He told me that he had _ESP_."

"Yeah, it's a very uncommon neurological phenomenon," Caitlin says. "We're really only just now starting to research in kerauno-medicine. That's why Barry's been spending so much time at Star Labs."

 _Caitlin, you are a saint_.

"I just – I wish you would've told me," Iris tells him softly.

"I – it – hardly feels real sometimes," Barry admits truthfully.

 _None of this feels real, sometimes._

"We're just glad you're getting help," Eddie says warmly.

"Yeah," Iris agrees.

He needs the confirmation, so he asks, "So – we're good?"

"Yeah, we're good," Iris promises, putting a hand on his arm and smiling _so earnestly_ at him that he worries about the day she finds out he's the Flash.

 _Lightning Psychosis, indeed_.

He buys Caitlin coffee and muffins in appreciation. "You are a life saver," he whispers out of Eddie and Iris' earshot.

"All in a day's work," Caitlin says primly, shoulder checking him lightly.

. o .

All in a day's work, indeed.

That's the crazy thing about a day.

It's easy to forget that there is a Last Good Day before every catastrophe. Knowing when that day will come is impossible; knowing anything about the future is _impossible_. It's chaos theory in action: too many threads to follow, too many steps in the sand. Some of the trails are dead ends; others require backtracking; and all of them lead to interesting places. Interesting people, too.

Barry's grateful for his brand of interesting people.

"Am I late?" he asks, walking into the cortex, not wanting to disturb the carefully assembled blanket fort in the center of the floor.

"Just getting started," Cisco replies, already ensconced. "You brought the red vines, right?"

"Wouldn't have left the store without them," Barry says, passing him the pack and shimmying into the space beside him.

"You, sir, are my very best friend," Cisco says solemnly.

"Heard that," Caitlin calls from outside their fort.

"Hurry up," Cisco replies. Barry makes himself comfortable, finding a pre-warmed spot on the blankets and settling into it.

Caitlin pokes her head under the top sheet, holding a stack of DVDs and saying, "Which one did we decide on first?"

" _Empire Strikes Back_ ," Cisco replies.

Caitlin pops the DVD in the projector player before shuffling under the sheet and reasserting her claim on the prewarmed side, forcing him into the middle. Not that he's complaining, stealing a red vine from Cisco's bag and biting into it as the Star Wars theme starts up.

The quality is stellar – Star Labs really does have nice toys – but Barry doesn't pay it attention so much as how grateful he is for the two people at his sides. For everyone that still gets to be at his side. He may have given up his whole world, but it was a world without them. A world not worth living in.

But something in him _knew_ how to get here. Not just through spacetime: but to this point in time.

And his last thought before dozing off is, _I wouldn't change a thing_.


End file.
